


A New Kind of Normal

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ... though maybe it will be resolved..., Awkward Boners, Awkward Sexual Situations, Best Friends, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, JAB June, Love, Love Confessions, Romance, Romantic Comedy, So many tags, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and Jaime is horny as hell, because i do - Freeform, if you think it is funny, suggestive newspapers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Jaime finds himself in a precarious situaton after a certain coffee incident that may well put his friendship with Brienne at risk, something he cannot allow to happen because his relationship with her is the one normal thing he has in life, and Jaime does not want to lose it.However, distracting himself from that oh so precarious situation proves to be much more difficult than it should be.And apparently, newspapers and recipes are no help whatsoever on the matter.





	A New Kind of Normal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Renee561](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renee561/gifts).



> Hello everyone, thanks for looking into this story for JAB June.
> 
> And if you think I spent hours creating this fake newspaper... yes, I did, and I feel no shame, shame, shame.
> 
> I gift this story to Renee after she was so kind to gift a work to me before. And in Lannister fashion, I, too, always want to pay my debts. 
> 
> Warnings go as always: Still no native. Still un-beta'd. I own nothing. I know nothing. I am Jon Snow and all.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you are going to like it. 
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

“Fuck this,” Jaime curses under his breath as he feels oh too tempted to throw the newspaper away, but the mere attempt of moving on the couch by just an inch reminds him _painfully_ that this is no option whatsoever in his current state. Because this newspaper from yesterday, _apparently_ , is the thin veil standing between him and possibly life-long embarrassment coupled with his frenemy unfriending him not just on social medial but also in real life. And Jaime is determined to prevent that from happening.

He dodged that bullet once, and Jaime is determined to do it again, and he wants to believe that he can, if not for stupid headlines keeping his mind focused on what Jaime tries to distract himself from so very desperately.

And here he was hoping that _actually_ reading the newspaper instead of carefully spreading it across his lap would help him dodge the bullet and safely return it to the magazine. Quite on the contrary, though, that only had the weapon more readily cocked as this old newspaper provided Jaime with nothing but wordplay relating to his very condition at the moment, which is _not at all_ helping him keep his mind off of the obvious further down below craving attention.

_A lot._

Instead, it only ever makes Jaime feel more embarrassed for the fact that even reading about “pitching tents” can force him into bending over and praying to the Seven for mercy, and that even though Jaime Lannister does not pride himself being a faithful man. Even less so ever since the Gods were so cruel to leave him like _this_ on the blue couch in Brienne’s living room.

_That was the last straw, I am an atheist, period. And they can suck that straw… never mind._

And all that despite the fact that Jaime’s day started out rather pleasantly and magically unproblematic. Work proved to be not as much of a drag as it usually is because everyone was going about their business for once without Jaime having to step in as the mediator, a role the oldest son of Tywin Lannister is accustomed to taking on ever since he was a young boy trying to keep the family’s peace. Even Cersei and Tyrion seemed to be able to keep it low for once, which is rare enough a gift that Jaime felt very tempted to make a note in the calendar to never forget that his siblings _can_ actually peacefully coexist for a time, and show it to them whenever they have the next fallout.

_Which is likely going to be… tomorrow the latest._

Furthermore, Jaime got out of work earlier than he had planned to, since a meeting was cancelled at the very last second. Because, as the newspaper now seems to confirm, Ms. Targaryen has other business to handle than talk about some trading route in the Western parts of Westeros.

_Though that is what you get when you make big promises and don’t stay around to keep them, it seems. The people will riot instead of carrying you around on their hands for stagediving._

To make matters even _impossibly_ better, he got confirmation from Brienne that she got out of the office early, too. It was a short exchange of texts wherein Jaime actually meant to brag about how _he_ will enjoy his early weekend, only for her to reply that “there are apparently people other than” him after all, a claim that Jaime insists to be untrue despite the fact that the two have far more in common than meets the eye.

Therefore, Jaime didn’t head home as he had it first planned, but instead made his way over to Brienne’s workplace to pick her up, something they routinely do ever since they stopped trying to rip each other to shreds, though that took a good amount of time to get over with.

_And continues despite the fact, if in a different shapes of shreds._

Jaime couldn’t hold back his laughter when Brienne started to explain the reason for her early free time as they walked down the streets towards her apartment since it is closest to the office complexes. Because apparently, stupidity is what got her an unexpected early weekend, or more precisely the foolery of one of her co-workers who managed to infect the entirety of the office’s messenger devices with a virus, which will likely keep the poor tech guys preoccupied for the rest of _their_ weekend. However, that is what you get when you dare to open a spam mail labeled “Hot Wildling Women Waiting Just One Click Away.”

Brienne didn’t even have to say the name, because Jaime already knew that it had to be this red-haired guy working at her company whose name, no matter how often Brienne repeats it, seems to escape him every single time. Jaime only ever saw the bearded man creep up on Brienne a number of times when Jaime picked her up from work. And he was _that_ close, so very, _very_ close to just slap this colossal creep for his lewd comments and glances. Even more so for his inappropriate treatment of what Jaime assumes was a chicken leg that the guy kept licking the same way Jaime believes, though he _really_ doesn’t want to imagine, him to try to treat a lady’s parts for when he actually manages to hook up with one. He was apparently very much convinced by that point of time that Brienne would thus be head over heels for this modern-day Wildling as this was likely meant to make her think “I simply must have sex… with _that_.”

_Though that is never going to happen. Ever. Before that, we will have another Long Night, another Long Summer, and at least three Dreams of Spring, and then… no, still no chance._

However, as the guy slowly but surely seems to come to grips with the reality that he won’t have any luck with Brienne of Tarth, the red-haired man seems ever the more intrigued by obvious spam mails that are obvious, which is why the tech guys now all have to do a night shift to get the computers at Brienne’s company to work again, so they can continue business coming Monday.

“And that is how I got an early weekend,” Brienne concluded at last, a small smirk tugging at her lips as they went, a thing of rarity back during their initial time together, though Jaime found that they became more common as they grew more familiar with each other.

“I told you that the guy is the embodiment of sexually transmitted diseases,” Jaime commented as they were on their way over to their favorite café for some unexpectedly early coffee to take back to Brienne’s apartment.

Normally, they would have gone back to their usual routine of fighting out who has to play host for watching the game together, a contest that includes two cellphones with video function, a total of six throwing knives, a dartboard, and the suspension of the historical _Game of Thrones_ due to the rules of its sudden-death. This, in turn, requires the person to miss his or her mark the first time having to play host, which includes having to clean up after the two tossed around popcorn or whatever else in sheer anticipation of the game’s finale.

However, as both had the afternoon off, and as Jaime beat Brienne in rock-paper-scissors in _legendary_ fashion, it was agreed to spend the remains of the day over at Brienne’s apartment and use the unexpected free time to watch a re-run of the last game both missed due to stupid conferences taking place when it’s actually game time. That was the reason why both tried their best to stay clear from any kind of sports news and social media, so not to spoil the surprise for them, something that proves more and more difficult in times of the internet.

So, in summary, it should have been a perfectly normal day like any other, if with unexpected free time adding a bit of icing on top of that otherwise pleasant late summer day. And following that logic, things should have continued in a similar fashion.

_Just that they did not._

All was well until they were inside Brienne’s apartment. Jaime was ready to kick off his shoes and take up his favorite spot on the couch from which he has the best view on the TV. He was ready to try yet again to tease Brienne into fixing up something to eat because whenever he ventures through a kitchen, something gets burned to charcoal and he leaves the apartment with at least two band-aids around his fingers, and frankly, Brienne happens to be the better cook of the two. Though Jaime is _great_ at ordering food, he will insist to anyone who asks.  

He was ready for all of that. He was ready for a nice day, watching the game, hollering at the TV and making fun of the _Night’s Watch’s_ new quarterback Jon Snow who _really_ seems to know nothing about the sport he is playing. Mentally, Jaime already sat on the couch and put his feet on the coffee table, most sure that it was only a matter of seconds until Brienne would curse at him to quit that because “the couch table is not a footrest.”

What Jaime was _not_ ready for – and neither was Brienne – was that he stumbled slightly backwards when he meant to kick off his shoes in a theatrical fashion, only to bump into Brienne with his back, thereby knock the blonde’s Styrofoam cup of black coffee against her and then have the brown liquid spread all the way across Brienne’s front and her hardwood floor.

Furthermore, Jaime was certainly not ready for Brienne doing damage control to bypass burning herself with the still rather hot coffee by quickly stripping out of her shirt, which left Jaime to gaze at Brienne standing before him with pants and bra only. No, he was most certainly not ready for that, not prepared for it by any means, and thus let his guard down in almost the same way Jon Snow still seems to do it, only to get hit right in the nuts.

And that was when the one thing hit him that Jaime was even less prepared for than what just occurred as his member stood _right_ to attention, something that Brienne _thankfully_ did not catch as the blonde instantly headed to the bathroom to wash herself and soak her clothes to bypass lasting coffee stains.

Therefore, Jaime almost _dived_ onto the couch to cover himself with the next best thing he could find, which turned out to be a way too horny, outdated newspaper. He hoped for his little friend to go back to sleep, but no such luck just yet as Jaime can feel his cock straining hard against the confines of his dress pants, wanting out, out, _out_ , even after the moment of seeing that bra has _long_ since passed.

And truly, Jaime can’t afford to have history repeat itself in just that fashion after he dodged the bullet before, which he only did _barely_ so. Though he blames Brienne entirely for _this_ bullet because she took MMA fighting _way_ too far that day and pinned him to the ground, pressing her pelvis against his in all the ways that his member was _not_ prepared for. It was only thanks to Jaime’s fast reflexes that he managed to throw her off of him just in time for her not to realize what was bound to press against _her_ pelvis soon enough and make a run for the gym’s restroom under the pretense of needing to use the bathroom _very_ badly after she had to sit on him that long.

Jaime wants to believe that those days of teenage-level sexual confusion have passed since school where he knows for a fact that his hormones were doing what they weren’t supposed to be doing to an almost threatening degree when it came to him and his twin sister, though boarding school proved to put an end to that roller-coaster before it ever got running, thankfully. However, looking down himself right now has Jaime start to question whether he ever got out of high school if the mere sight of a white bra on a mannish, flat-chested woman the likes of his friend Brienne can have his cock stand up and want out, as though to demand all of the bargain rather than just the sight of it.

And Jaime wouldn’t know just how that suddenly came about. He saw Brienne in training clothes before, as both have a fable for MMA, something that the two only ever learned about once they put their animosities aside, a project that most would have deemed impossibly by the time they first ran into each other for a shared project of both their companies, or rather clashed like elemental forces. He saw her like this before, numerous times, Jaime even surprised her in _very_ short PJ panties and muscle shirt this one time when he decided to be a really good friend and bring by takeaway chicken soup after Brienne had texted him that she couldn’t come to see the game with him as she was sick in bed with the flu. Jaime was perfectly fine by that time, and nothing stirred down below.

Yet, now the sight of some coffee rolling down her toned stomach and some cotton white sports bra has him lose his mind and the remains of his dignity, unless Jaime finds a way to finally gain control again.

“Is everything alright with you in there, wench?” Jaime decides to call out to focus on what should be far more urgent than his gun remaining cocked, because getting hot coffee all over your front is surely no pleasant experience, even less so than some strain in the pants thanks to hormones going on a roller-coaster ride of no return.

“What did I say about calling me ‘wench’?” he can hear Brienne holler from the bathroom.

“That you don’t like it, to which I told you that I don’t care. Remember that bit?” Jaime shouts, hoping that easing back into familiar territories of verbal fighting and jesting will remind the rest of his body that this is the _modus operandi_. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Do I have to call an ambulance?”

_And maybe ask them for some pill to swallow so that the little Kingslayer stays in the pants while we are at it?_

Because apparently, distraction does not seem to be working greatly for Jaime right at this point of time.  

“No ambulance needed,” Brienne answers. “I was lucky that I… got the clothes off before it could do any damage to the skin… I am right now trying to get coffee stains out of a silk blouse, which is, according to the internet, a very big thing to undertake.”

“I could also buy you a new one,” Jaime argues, trying his best to think of Brienne wearing the blouse rather than the sight of her standing there with just the bra underneath it. “I mean, I suppose I am at least partly responsible for that.”

“I want to at least try to save it. I liked the blouse well enough because it fitted nicely. You know how hard it is for me to find something that fits in the right places,” Brienne tells him, perfectly unaware of how torturous every word she speaks about her body is for Jaime as he tries to think about literally anything else.

“So you will take a few more minutes, I reckon?” Jaime asks, sucking his lower lip into his mouth to taste salt from a bead of sweat that came to stand on top of it, because this is apparently much more demanding for his body than he estimated when his member knocked on the front door quite insistently.

“I suppose so. If you want, you can already get the TV started. Just make it a little louder so I can hear it, too, yes?” Brienne suggests.

“I will wait. It’s not the same if you don’t sing along the anthem perfectly out of tune,” Jaime tells her.

“I do _not_ sing along.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“If you want to believe that,” Jaime huffs as he lets his gaze wander about the room. The fridge in the open kitchen seems almost too tempting. He knows that some ice would likely work miracles to stuff the revolver away again to finally dodge the bullet, but that would only lead to questions Jaime doesn’t want to answer as to why he has an icepack sitting on his crotch.

_So that is no option. What else do we have?_

Jaime’s eyes fix on the puddle of coffee on the ground for a moment or two before he decides that maybe movement is going to fix things, a change of position, something else to focus on other than the imagery of Brienne hurriedly unbuttoning her silky blouse to reveal pale, freckled skin underneath…

He almost jumps up, only for his cock to protest, but Jaime tries his best to ignore that as he makes for the kitchen to grab some paper towels and a wet cleaning rag to start wiping the floor. From that position, he is still shielded from view if Brienne is to unexpectedly come out of the bathroom, since the couch is between them. That means that even if his dick decides to keep playing foul games, he will have enough time to dive back onto his seat and use the horny newspaper for cover.

“And you really don’t want to start the video?” Brienne calls out after a short while, in a kind of voice that has Jaime furrow his eyebrows. Something is odd about her tone, though he can’t seem to put his finger on it. Yet, looking down himself and the apparently still pitched tent which is the crotch area of his pants, Jaime’s body seemingly wants to put his finger _quite_ somewhere else than the bottom of that little mystery.

“Most sure, yes. As I said, I can wait,” Jaime calls out, trying his best to keep his voice light as though nothing was going on, as though all of that was normal, when in fact it is really not.

“You _really_ don’t have to.”

“But I _want_ to,” Jaime insists.

In fact, he really _needs_ to, but that is nothing Jaime will make mention of to Brinne right at this moment, that much is for sure.

“It’s just…,” he can hear Brienne mutter from the bathroom in the meek kind of voice that instantly sends him down fantasy lane of how she could use _just_ that voice to whisper his name before pulling him closer to herself, only to start to unbutton her pants to let them join the bloody blouse on the floor to let him see all that his body has been craving for ever since it came to his attention…

_Enough! Boring thoughts. Distracting thoughts. Bad thoughts. Disgusting thoughts. Something to cut off the snake’s head with… c’mon, you can do this, you can do this… That dude eating the chicken leg… nope, that leads right back to Brienne… Walking in on Pycelle doing cardio in his underwear one time… traumatizing, but apparently not enough to slay the snake… Qyburn and…_

“It’s just that I don’t want us to be late to then watch the actual game. We also have to catch up to all the commentary,” Brienne calls out.

“I am busy now anyway. I am cleaning up the floor,” Jaime tells her.

“Oh, you really don’t have to.”

“Of course I do,” Jaime retorts. “So now, just work on your coffee stains and once that is done… we return to normal and watch the game, yes?”

“To normal… right,” Brienne agrees in a kind of voice Jaime fails to read without the luxury of having Brienne’s expression, which is normally an open book to him on most other occasions. Though he reckons that it’s for the better that he does not see her just yet or else his cock may push for seeing more than he already did anyway.

And he can’t afford that, not in the current condition he finds himself in.

He can’t afford to lose his normalcy of which Brienne became the tall-standing embodiment.

Because Jaime _has_ to have things return to normal, he simply has to. Because that _is_ his normal, the one kind of ordinariness Jaime got to know ever since he ran into this most strange woman named Brienne of Tarth. Work is such madness, as he is stuck with his family far too often to his own liking. His reputation as the Kingslayer after the whole Aerys Affair managed to make even the most usual things seem abnormal as Jaime continued to find himself under the scrutiny of basically the whole nation to the point that he felt like buying the wrong kind of cereal may even end up upsetting someone. Everything about his life is kind of over the top, not quite normal, out of the ordinary.

However, all of that changed when Jaime ran into Brienne, a woman he believed was trying to make something abnormal out of him like the rest of the world, and in fact, she did that for a while, but as they continued to work together, if begrudgingly so, he realized that she actually judged him based on his actions rather than his reputation, treated him like she treats everyone else, demanded and still demands the same standard of Jaime that she demands of herself.

Furthermore, it was during that time that Jaime realized that there are people other than him who undergo different and yet similar challenges. Because Brienne can’t seem to have normal either. Most people still tend to confuse her for a guy upon first catching sight of her. She is oftentimes mistaken for a kind of heartless, tough businesswoman who couldn’t ever have her feelings hurt or doesn’t care for much of anything, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. And working at the company she is employed at, where people from all across the Seven Kingdoms and Beyond the Wall join together, chaos is on the daily menu seemingly out of principle.

Brienne seemed utterly shocked back in the day when he suggested having lunch together, something that was perfectly natural for Jaime to invite his liaison colleague to, until he saw the shock Brienne tried her best to disguise, but failed miserably to execute. Because, as it turned out, colleagues normally don’t ask her to tag along, which is why Brienne was accustomed to spending lunch time alone. However, that, too, turned into normalcy once Jaime made a habit of it, even after the shared project was over and both returned to their respective business complexes.

That is what made the simplicity of their growing friendship all the more compelling, all the more important as time progressed, essential, even, till today, where it makes up the kind of normal Jaime found himself craving ever since he realized that his life was anything but usual. It is about watching football games together. It’s about picking each other up from work to go for a walk and banter from beginning to end. To text each other even late at night. To call someone medieval names just to see the other one scowl. To make sure the other one gets home safely. To bring by chicken soup when one is sick or help move some furniture because you are too proud to call someone and don’t want to admit that your bad hand is still giving you too much trouble to do it all on your own.

That is the reason why Jaime is keen on dodging that bullet, or else all of that seems in danger. And he can’t afford to lose his bit of odd normalcy, which grew to be the vantage point in his life.

Jaime tears off a few paper towels to watch them being soaked with the brown liquid, which is long since cold, though even the mere sight of something as white as Brienne’s bra has his little friend strain even more in his pants than he does anyway. Sucking in a ragged breath, Jaime stuffs the soaked towels together into a tight bundle before wiping over the wooden floor with the wet rag a few more times, trying his best to focus on just that task, on something as unsexy as cleaning up coffee stains is supposed to be.

However, the more Jaime ponders the unsexiness of that task, the more he has to think about how different it would look if their positions were in reverse and he would walk in on Brienne kneeling on the ground, bending over to wipe up the last remains of the coffee to flex those muscles and maybe expose even more of the toned back…

_No! No! No!_ _Unsexy thoughts! C’mon! Pycelle doing cardio in just his underwear… Qyburn’s sick smile while treating flesh wounds… Stag party with everyone and the Bronn’s infamous game of a Marathong … Football Statistics! What was the points differential for the Kingsguard again? 169, was it? Ah fuck! Calculus is now betraying me, too?! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!_

Jaime almost jumps to his feet, ignoring the discomfort that causes for his crotch area and bolts back towards the kitchen, hoping that the counter will serve as his shield to protect himself from losing his bit of normalcy to the abnormal behavior that is seemingly the new _modus operandi_ for his cock. The young man hastily tosses the ball of paper towels into the trash can with a wet slapping sound that has his member almost tingle.

This is ridiculous, utterly, absolutely ridiculous.

His eyes fall on a cookbook sitting on the counter flipped open to a random page, but merely reading the titles for what seems to be the party food section reaching from _Finger Food for Dipping_ and _Extra Long Party Subs_ over to _Spicy Stuffed Tacos, Rip-‘n’-Dips,_ and _Red Hot Meat Balls on a Stick_.

Just what is it with print today that Jaime has to put up with that beside the obviously great problem peeking up at him from his pants?

Jaime is quick to wash his hands and dry them, his eyes constantly trained on the slightly ajar door leading to the bathroom where Brienne is seemingly still wrestling with the coffee stains, likely perfectly unaware of it that her friend can’t seem to get his little friend in check in turn.

No, he cannot afford to put his friendship with Brienne at risk, not for the sake of his selfish dick. Because that sense of companionship, of their odd kind of normalcy wherein tossing knives at dartboards to determine who has to cook dinner makes perfect sense if only just between themselves.

His hand grips his crotch area a little tighter than he normally would, because this is on the verge of being awfully painful, but the tent has to fall and the tower has been ruled to not be erected at all.

The sound of footsteps has Jaime’s head shoot up abruptly as he sees Brienne emerge or rather try to sneak out of the bathroom, sheepishly looking around to where she suspected Jaime, namely where the coffee landed on her shirt to reveal a part of herself Jaime only ever saw in sportswear and never without it. Her left hand rests on her right shoulder as she slowly comes outside, and it is only then that Brienne turns her head towards the kitchen to see her friend and constant source of annoyance behind the kitchen counter. And if all of it wasn’t bad enough already, the fact that she holds her arms so awkwardly in front of herself only makes Jaime realize ever the more that she put on the now perfectly wet silk blouse, which, admittedly, seems free of the coffee stain, but is also almost translucent, clutching to her muscular frame in all the ways Jaime can’t have it right now.

“Fuck,” he groans, bending over as another wave of heat crushes through his body, settling uncomfortably in his crotch.

“Are you alright?” Brienne asks with the edge of worry in her voice that has Jaime fear he may come undone right here, right now behind Brienne’s kitchen counter in a way that is under no circumstance either appropriate or sexy.

“Splendid,” he says through gritted teeth, making sure to look at the tabletop as he uses his left hand to hold on tight to the counter whereas his right hand keeps his member from being completely unleashed. “Absolutely. Damn. Perfect. Thanks for asking. Coffee stains… taken care of?”

_Fight for composure, Kingslayer, damn it! You can do it! You have to! Unsexy thoughts. Unsexy thoughts… Stones. Bricks. Driftwood. Weirwood. Morning wood… oh fuck this already!_

“Yes, uhm… I should… I should change. But you are sure you are okay?” Brienne asks again in this almost tender kind of voice that sends shivers down Jaime’s spine, only to pool in hot waves in his crotch area.

“Wonderfulllllll,” Jaime says with a strained voice, biting on his tongue in the process as he is bound to see water dripping down her body to the wooden floor even when Jaime tries his utmost best to keep his eyes focused on the tabletop. “Totally. Great. Wench.”

“If you are having one of your pain fits for the hand again, you know I can get you…,” she means to say, but Jaime cuts her off, “The hand’s perfectly fine!”

In fact, for once, his stupid hand is the least of his problems.

And in any other situation, he would like to thank the Seven that he actually has the kind of friend who instantly knows when something is not alright with him, because that is apparently something he had to realize was lacking from his life until he realized that Brienne made him catch breaks during their sessions at the gym without ever making mention of it, simply aware that he couldn’t go on any longer thanks to his chronic hand pains.

When he can hear her step closer, Jaime is ready to scream however. Because, for once, Brienne’s being helpful is not at all helpful.

“We talked about how you don’t have to act all tough, because that only makes you act like a baby, in fact. If you want to…,” Brienne goes on and Jaime wants to raise his voice to shout, but by that time it’s all too late already as he can see her eyes widening when her eyes catch just what body part he is holding tightly.

“Oh,” is all Brienne manages to bring out at first, before she adds a few beats later a very weak, “are you… I mean…”

“Afraid so,” Jaime says, looking up at her though the strands standing in his eyes, offering a far too toothy, far too strained smile to pass off as actually being relaxed.

“That is… unexpected,” Brienne says curtly, her shoulders hunched and the grip on herself only ever tightening as though to guard herself impossibly more from view than she does anyway.

“Tell me about it, wench,” Jaime sighs, feeling warm beads of sweat running down his temple.

“It’s just…,” she mutters, but Jaime cuts her off rather quickly, “You would do best ignoring it. This will pass in a minute, I am sure… I _hope_. I suppose that’s the side-effect of not having dated in how long is it now?”

“Five months according to your last update,” Brienne says in a monotonous voice, unable to move anything but her lips at this moment, almost transfixed at the sight before her, which in turn, does not exactly help Jaime as his cock seemingly doesn’t just crave attention but also enjoys the unexpected attention of being looked at, even though the rest of him is clearly _not_.

“Right, that. So you see…,” Jaime says, biting his lower lip. “I just hope this will literally… not stand between us now.”

Brienne blinks at him. “What?”

“I know what this looks like, but it is not, I repeat, _not_ what it looks like. You know me, wench, I am not the kind of guy who does such a thing, even less so in his friend’s apartment. I just want to be clear about that, you understand?” Jaime says through gritted teeth, fighting for composure, fighting for a way out of this most awkward situation.

“Yeah, sure,” Brienne answers through pursed lips. “This is just an… accident, I get it. Accidents… happen.”

Something shifts in her expression that Jaime fails to read now, too, and that even though he can normally see right away what must be on Brienne’s mind, but right at this moment, it’s a complete mystery to him. Though if he were to guess, it seems to be a combination of shock, confusion, and oddly also hurt and frustration, is it?

_Just what is going on here?_

“Right, right, an accident. That’s what it is. An _accident_ , thank you,” Jaime says, almost desperate to jump on that train, as it seems to guarantee that his kind of normal will not be undone by what evidently is no more than an accidental awkward boner.

That it is a two-time accident is obviously something Jaime will gladly gloss over for the sake of rescuing their relationship from the abyss of awkwardness, of course.

“I suppose you may want to cool that,” Brienne says, not even looking at him as she speaks. “You know where to find ice. Just make sure to use a fresh towel to wrap it in. I’ll get changed now.”

With that, Brienne quickly turns around and darts towards the bedroom, and if all of that hadn’t left Jaime and his body more confused than ever already, Brienne’s expression only added that bit of icing on top.

Because if Jaime didn’t know better, he would be quite sure now that Brienne looked at him with both hurt and disappointment in her eyes for him jumping on the accident train, and that even though she was the one to bring it up.

_Seriously, what is going on here? What did I miss thanks to this little situation here?_

This was supposed to be a normal day, and it just continues to be anything but normal.

“Ice,” Jaime reminds himself, to proceed towards the fridge and shovel a handful into a thick, dry towel. He presses the package to his crotch fast if tentatively, because that is _certainly_ no pleasant experience, but neither is having his member strain for what feels like eternities now, so he will take up with the alternative any time. Jaime hisses at the first contact as it sends agonizing lightning bolts from his center all the way to the tips of his hair, but then lets a hiss of relief as Jaime can feel his cock slowly but surely retreating to where it belongs. “Fuckin’ _finally_.”

With rather awkwardly spread legs to bypass further friction, Jaime makes his way slowly back to the couch, ice pack ready for when his cock decides to come back to knock on the front door. He settles down slowly, very slowly, his eyes briefly going back over to the horny newspaper, which he quickly casts aside. After all, the accident was revealed, which means that this newspaper is most certainly dated now.

**_New headline of the day_ ** _: Friendboned – How to Accidentally Make Your Friendship Awkward in Less than A Minute with Just a Coffee and Some Fine Print._

Jaime leans forward to grab the remote from the coffee table to switch on the TV, because distraction may still prove to be key to gloss over the fact that he made an utter fool of himself in front of Brienne right now. Though he will say, having a phallic object in hand is still not quite helping the matter, even if he has now the instant remedy of the ice pack ready to go whenever his friend wants to come out and play again.

_Because it’s game night tonight, and not **that** kind of game, that much is for sure. _

As if on cue, that is when his friend comes out of the bedroom, now dressed in what appears to be the most oversized shirt she owns, Brienne’s expression ever the more blank as she maneuvers over to the couch after briefly looking up to see Jaime already sitting there, fidgeting around with the remote.

He observes with a grimace when Brienne sits down much further away from him than she normally does. And that even though the two had grown accustomed to sitting fairly close together on the couch after Brienne made some almost hilarious attempts at first to stay the furthest away from him as possible when she let him come over to her apartment for the very first time. And back then, things seemed wonderfully easy. Just a bit of teasing and some snarky comments, and Brienne slipped closer, her freckles almost glowing thanks to the growing blush on her cheeks and the thick column of her neck. However, that is what you seem to get for such a premature kind of accident you let happen because you forgot to get the five-finger discount in the morning to bypass just those things.

Though to Jaime’s defense, he would want to add that polishing the gun was not much of an option for him ever since that incident in the gym. Whenever Jaime tried to get over with the business, his thoughts were instantly back to the feeling of Brienne’s pelvis pressing against his and the way she towered above him, looking like a mannish, yet strangely hot warrior woman as she pinned him down, unaware of what that was doing to him in turn in that maddeningly innocent kind of way that is particular to Brienne of Tarth alone.

_Which is kind of the problem right now, too, isn’t it?_

He is pulled out of his thoughts when Brienne reaches out to take the remote away from him and starts to go through the list of recordings to direct to the one of the last game.

“Brienne, uhm, about this…,” Jaime means to say, but Brienne cuts him off, her eyes fixed on the screen, “All’s said and done. A streak of accidents that now all culminated into… this. We should just leave it at that.”

Brienne runs her hand over her face to then ease back some of her unruly, short-cropped curls, letting out a shuddered kind of breath that has Jaime tempted to retrieve the ice pack again, but he will control himself, he has to.

“It’s just…,” Jaime tries another time, but Brienne isn’t having it. “It’s fine. It’s awkward enough as it is, so we should… just watch the game. It’s as you said, we ought to return to normal.”

“Taking the obvious from below aside, did I say something that offended you?” Jaime blurts out asking.

“What part of what I just said did you not understand?” Brienne retorts. “We should watch the game, as we had it planned. As it is supposed to be.”

“Brienne.”

“No. This is all embarrassing enough as it is. I didn’t even realize what I did until I stood before you in just my bra. And then I had to walk out with that see-through thing because I didn’t have a spare shirt or properly big towels to wrap myself with to get to the bedroom. Which is why I stood there awkwardly for about five minutes, pondering my options, only to realize that this was the only one I had… only for the next accident to happen. You really think this is not irritating enough for me already?” Brienne interrupts him as her fingers keep clicking through the long lists of recorded games.

Jaime grimaces. He didn’t even think about it how that already affected Brienne as he was far too preoccupied with his own condition.

“Though I will say I wonder what exactly you found in my apartment in the meantime that had you… well… you know… never mind. That’s your business,” Brienne goes on, shaking her head.

“I didn’t find anything safe for your horny newspaper,” Jaime says before he can even think it through, which has Brienne’s frown impossibly deepen.

“What horny newspaper would I have?” she asks.

“That one,” Jaime goes on, nodding at the thing. “The headlines are _ridiculously_ suggestive. Well, at least they are when you are in a certain… state of mind already.”

“So some suggestive headlines are the cause? Good to know. Maybe you want to quit that newspaper for the time being, then,” Brienne says, her mimic stoic, though her body is tensed to the point that Jaime just waits for her bones to start cracking.

“Most certainly, but that was… not the cause, really,” Jaime goes on, wanting to smack himself. Brienne offered him the lifebelt right there. He only had to keep on the accident train, right? And now his lips are far too eager to tell her that apparently, she was the cause for this rather than some local newspaper.

If Jaime were right in his mind, he would have said that he looked up coffee stain removal tips on the internet and the page redirected him to some porny webpage, maybe the same kind that sends out spam mails from and for horny Wildlings. That would have been sensible enough an excuse. Still an awkward, embarrassing one, but far more sensible than almost coming undone in his pants at the sight of a white cotton bra and his friend’s muscular body dribbling coffee most definitely.

If he were right in his mind, he would have done a million things different, and yet, here he sits on his friend’s couch with an ice pack for his penis apparently suffering from a severe case of cock-ADHD to the point that Brienne seemingly can’t even bear to look at him, which is all so very contrary to the idea of what their friendship is about that Jaime can hardly take it.

And if all of that wasn’t already bad enough, Brienne is not just embarrassed and irritated, as she sensibly should be, but also has this edge of growing disappointment and pain in her voice that Jaime doesn’t even know how to talk his way out of that, how to talk both of them out of that.

If only he were right in his mind, then all of this would be so much easier, but apparently, the body has taken command, making of a professional businessman no more than a horny teenager who seemingly fails at the easiest of tasks, which is to not knock the morning wood when he is meant to watch a game with his female friend instead.

“Then what would have been the cause if not those headlines you find provocative in that way?” Brienne asks, thereby posing the kind of question Jaime would really rather not answer at all. Because that will likely prove to be the point of no return.

But at the same time, can he really afford to lie to Brienne about the matter when she just told the truth about her own embarrassment that led to her standing in the bathroom, searching for solutions other than the coffee stains?

After all, both agreed that honesty was key, it was key even before they became actual friends. It was their agreement of a truce while working together for the shared project. As Brienne told him after a particularly harsh clash wherein Jaime found himself saying things about the Aerys Affair he never told anyone, not even his own family, “you need trust to have a truce.” And so he trusted her with the Aerys Affair, which brought Brienne to trust him to be honest with him in turn.

“You were,” Jaime blurts out saying while his mind is still pondering the other options, but it really seems to be the case that his body has taken command and won’t share any time soon.

“ _I_ was?” Brienne repeats, furrowing her eyebrows as she ponders that answer, featuring that innocent kind of obliviousness that Jaime finds himself far too intrigued by than he really should, because it tempts him yet again to go for the ice pack just in case.

“Well, a lady in just a bra and wet skin… you know. As was mentioned, accidents happen, even more so when you didn’t date anyone in almost half a year,” Jaime says, the corners of his mouth aching from the strain of keeping a straight face.

“So you are telling me that… that _this_ …,” she stammers, gesturing down herself with fidgety movements before pointing roughly at his crotch area to continue, “… is the cause for _this_?”

“I am not… I am not trying to blame you. This is entirely on me. It’s just… that is the _explanation_. I saw you without a shirt and then… _something_ got nosey,” Jaime explains.

Brienne looks at him for a long moment, but then looks at the TV again. “… Right.”

He grimaces. “You don’t believe me?”

“Why would I?” Brienne huffs, which now has Jaime frown at her for a change.

“Because… I have no reason to lie to you?” he replies. “Or do you really think I have _fun_ making that admission?”

“I think that you, in your very odd way, try to be polite. And I don’t need that, trust me in this,” Brienne says, waving her free hand roughly in his direction without daring to turn her gaze towards Jaime, keeping her eyes glued on the TV screen instead.

“What exactly is _polite_ about that?” Jaime wants to know.

“To claim that _this_ would get you to have… _this_ ,” Brienne says, repeating her gesture from before. “I know what I look like. I know what we are two each other. So really, this is an impossibly strange way of being polite and somehow flattering towards me. There is no need.”

“I am not saying that to _flatter_ you. I may have an ice pack in my hand to keep my cock from rising to attention yet again, but I am not that terrible with making compliments to a lady. You know, I am not that much of a hormone-driven teenager not to know how to make an actual compliment,” Jaime insists.

“Which makes that claim ever the more ridiculous. Because there clearly must have been something else, and I don’t even want to know what it may have been, that led to this… _situation_ down there… but I am actually pretty sure that I have the least part in it,” Brienne tells him.

“You have _all_ the part in it,” Jaime bursts out saying, instantly regretting both the insistence with which he delivered the line and the apparent sincerity within.

This is no good. This is not their kind of normal. And they have to get back on that train if their normal is supposed to have any kind of continuation into the future. Because Jaime can’t afford to lose that normalcy.

He can’t afford to lose his friend.

He can’t afford to lose Brienne.

“So you _do_ try to blame me for that you can’t keep it in your pants after all?” Brienne questions, now sounding offended.

“That’s not what I meant… this is… the plain truth is that this was a direct reaction to seeing you… like _that_. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t build on that, it just happened to be so. And I am telling you this because that is the truth, even at the risk of making a total fool of myself now. This is not meant to flatter to you, because trust me, if I want to flatter you, be sure you will notice the difference,” Jaime says, gesturing with his left hand for emphasis.

After all, he still has the reputation of being some kind of womanizer, even though Jaime is as a matter of fact an almost painfully conventional man stuck in unconventional circumstances most of his time. He doesn’t need and neither does he want a girlfriend every other week. In fact, Jaime is the kind of guy always looking for a steady kind of relationship, it’s simply that the right one was not yet among those women he dated. Jaime wants to have someone he knows he can call up late at night to come over for a talk, someone who shares his interests, who dares to tell him when he fucked up or when he is in the wrong, and apparently, those kinds of women don’t grow on trees.

Brienne swallows thickly, studying him for another long moment before looking back at the TV screen again. “… Alright… So now that this is… clarified, we can… we can just go back to watching the game, yes?”

And Jaime wants to say “yes,” he wants to shout it out loud. _Yes, yes, yes!_ But he can’t.

Because this is not them, this is not their kind of normal.

Because no matter how much his mind is screeching at him shrilly to take the safety exit Brienne keeps open for him, his body is yelling something different, something very different.

Because no matter how tempting the easy way out may be, Jaime can’t stop thinking about the image of her standing before him with just the bra even now.

Because he can’t stop thinking about how he would want to cover the bit of distance between them, would want to scoot closer so that their arms would meet.

He can’t stop thinking about how he would want to take her hand into his.

He can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to just grab her and pull her in for a kiss, just like he can’t stop thinking just how nice, how wonderful, how perfectly normal that may actually be.

Because maybe it’s time for a new kind of normal.

_Right?_

“Brienne.”

“I got it right here. We can just start and…,” she wants to say, but Jaime cuts her off with urgency in his voice, “ _Brienne_.”

“What?” she asks defensively.

Jaime chews on his lower lip.

_Right, now what?_

What is he even doing?

“Have you ever thought about us outside a friendship context?” he ends up asking without further prelude or ado, because apparently, his body has long since taken over to the point that his mind is three laps behind.

“What is that question supposed to be?” Brienne asks after a sharp intake of air, which only ever tells Jaime that she very well knows what he is asking her.

“Did you ever think that we could be more than just friends?” he asks.

Brienne sucks the inside of her left cheek into her mouth. “Even though I hate to admit it, because you are an arrogant asshole most of your time, I think you are my best friend, apparently, but that is…”

“You know how I mean it,” Jaime argues.

She sucks in a deep breath before she goes on to ask, “Did you ever think about us like that?”

“I asked first.”

“So?” Brienne shrugs.

“That means you have to answer,” Jaime points out to her.

Because then he may have a way to determine whether it’s time to abort the mission or maybe to dare to swim out a little further into the ocean to see what the new tide may bring.

Because things can’t stay the way they are. Jaime can’t spend the rest of his life hanging in a lifebelt, can he?

“That means you are too craven to answer the question yourself,” Brienne tells him, then, turning towards Jaime to look him in the eye with the kind of clarity that Jaime both cherishes and fears because it leaves no way for him to hide from the intensity her blue eyes emit.

“That is… that was low, you know that?” he huffs, unable to help a small smile.

“While I give a lot about honor and keeping promises, as you say yourself often enough when we train, I know how to fight dirty if need be,” Brienne replies, letting her eyes momentarily lead astray alongside her smile, suddenly far too shy again.

“I think about it right now,” Jaime then admits, at which Brienne tears her gaze up at him in what he can only identify as utter shock. “Possibly did in a longer time, even if that was more my body pondering the options than my mind, actually.”

Brienne swallows thickly once, then twice, clutching the remote between her long fingers. “And you are serious about that?”

“Again, why would I lie? Just to flatter you? C’mon, Brienne, you know me, right?” Jaime argues.

“It’s just… it seems utterly outrageous to me,” Brienne replies, shaking her head.

“Why?” he asks.

Because Jaime is inclined to think that everything that preceded this conversation is actually far more outrageous than what seems suddenly so very simple compared to what he just had to deal with. The more he thinks about it, the less outrageous it seems to Jaime that two friends may have grown to be more to each other than they were ready to admit.

_That’s what happens on TV all the time, right?_

“Because I look what I look like. And you look like what you look like…,” Brienne says, rolling her wrist in a circular motion.

“Was that a twisted way of telling me that you find me attractive?” Jaime can’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t you dare laugh right now,” Brienne snaps, a new wave of pinkish red creeping up her pale cheeks.

“Oh, I just feel flattered by the compliment,” he snickers anyway.

Brienne glowers at him in turn, but then shakes her head.

“Be it as it may, even that doesn’t seem to matter. I mean, isn’t it that you were looking for a friend to share your hobbies with? I mean, I always took it that you were looking for a friend and not a…,” she continues, but then stops herself, to which Jaime quickly adds, “Girlfriend.”

She nods her head. “Yes. I mean, for what have you been dating, right?”

Jaime runs his left hand over his face, still asking himself whether they are actually having this conversation right now, after all that just happened mere minutes ago, or if he is just about to wake up on the kitchen floor with Brienne towering above him after he fainted like a girl because his entire system just shut down as a result of too much cock-ADHD.

“Remind me again when you had your last date?” he asks anyway.

“Five and a half months ago?” Brienne answers with a frown.

“And when did we run into each other?” Jaime continues.

“Six months ago?” she suggests.

“So I think we basically have only seen each other ever since we met. Do I have that right?”

Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders. “Supposedly.”

“Don’t you find that… I don’t know… telling?” Jaime asks with a grimace.

“Accidents happen?” Brienne answers, but then shakes her head. “I mean… don’t you think this is just… the heat of the moment or something?”

“Maybe it is, I don’t know,” Jaime ponders. “But…”

“But?” she asks.

“I think… I don’t really care whether it’s the result of the heat of the moment of whatever else,” Jaime says simply, the words coming out with surprising ease all of a sudden.

“Why wouldn’t you care?” Brienne questions hesitantly.

“Because…”

_Just because._

_Just because it’s her._

_And that should be reason enough._

_It will always be reason enough._

Yet again, Jaime’s body seems to side-step the questions that would otherwise have him hesitate and instead allows him to move forward, move closer towards Brienne, who, to his surprise, does not flinch away when he scoots over.

Her big blue eyes remain on his the whole time as Jaime leans over her, angles her chin upwards with the fingers of his left hand gently, and brings his lips down on hers slowly but with a strange kind of certainty that Jaime didn’t expect at this point of time, but welcomes nonetheless.

And what he welcomes even more is the fact that Brienne doesn’t pull away, doesn’t shy away, but instead runs her fingers over the side of his face, feeling the stubble there, as though it was something they did a hundred times already when in fact it is the very first time.

Because it seems that this apparently not nearly as abnormal as everything else in both their lives.

Indeed, it may be the one thing that is actually most natural, most normal.

When Jaime dares to deepen the kiss, Brienne readily joins the rhythm, yet again, as though it was something long since practiced, something both their bodies were prepared for far longer than their minds have been.

Once both pull apart to catch their breaths, their eyes lock and the wheels start turning in both their heads.

Is this really, actually happening right now?

“We just did that, didn’t we?” Brienne asks.

“I think we did, yeah. Instant regrets?” he questions with an edge of uncertainty taking over that Jaime normally knows better to hide away, but not in front of Brienne.

_Never in front of her._

“Do you?” Brienne asks, chewing on her bruised lower lip.

“I went first before, now is your turn, wench. Or else it’s no truce,” Jaime argues.

Brienne wrinkles her nose at him, but then adds sheepishly, “No regrets at all. I… think I could get used to that.”

Jaime grins at her almost ridiculously this time, his smirk turning feral almost instantly. “Oh, we definitely have to get used to that. Because this is… unexpected, perhaps, but also oh too thrilling.”

To prove his point, Jaime leans back down to kiss her, soon trailing kisses down the side of her face, then the thick column of her neck, which almost glows thanks to the heat spreading throughout her so very fast that it gives Jaime all kinds of ideas.

“I think I should have said all of that sooner,” he mutters.

“That only became apparent because of the accident,” Brienne points out to him.

“Not entirely,” Jaime argues, pressing a needy kiss to the spot under her ear, which has her shudder against him in all the ways that have his member craving attention, though Jaime really stops to mind right at that moment. “Remember the gym when you overpowered me by chance? You almost had me there already.”

“I overpower you all the time,” she scoffs, though her voice soon turns into the most delicious mewl as Jaime just keeps kissing her.

“Not right now,” he muses. “And we now have the entire weekend to catch up, think about it!”

“But the game,” Brienne sighs.

“The game can wait,” Jaime argues, pressing himself against her more firmly, “While _this_ , by contrast, can’t.”

Brienne’s eyes widen as she can feel just what is pressing against her, her cheeks blushing impossibly more as it dawns on her that, yes, she is the reason why, has been the reason why for longer than she ever would have dared to believe, and still is the one reason why. “Oh.”

“Told you. You are the reason to make me react like that,” Jaime says, rewarding Brienne with another ridiculous kind of grin that has her scowl at him.

And despite the fact that all of this is perfectly new, it feels incredibly right, feels incredibly normal, a new kind of normal, but a normal containing no one other than them, because between them, even this chaos seems to make sense.

“Foot off the table,” he can hear her say. “The couch table is not a footrest.”

“ _Seriously_?!” Jaime cries out, though laughter soon overtakes his exasperation as he leans his head into the nape of her neck. “You _really_ know how to kill the mood. I should have asked you for that magic trick when I was suffering.”

“Poor you,” Brienne huffs, giving him the sweet kind of smile that is a rare gift that she only seems to dare to share with him and him only, and Jaime must say, he quite likes the thought, the exclusivity of this normalcy.

“Well, you can make it up to me, of course,” Jaime points out in a suggestive kind of tone that has Brienne only ever snort at him, nudging him in the shoulder with the flat of her hand. “You wish.”

“Indeed. I think I made that known by now,” Jaime snickers, leaning down on her another time to emphasize the point. “Which is why I vote for it that we record the game to have enough time to pitch the tent in the bedroom.”

She frowns at him incredulously. “What? What _tent_?”

“Never mind,” Jaime says quickly, shaking his head. “Suffice to say that I think we two are up for our own game now. And we still have to make up new rules, as I know you love rules more than anything else.”

“There may be one or two things I love more than that,” Brienne argues.

Jaime can feel the corners of his mouth curl into a big kind of smile. “Wait, did you just confess your everlasting love for the Kingslayer to me?”

“I was talking about football of course,” Brienne answers quickly.

“You are in love with me! Ha,” Jaime croons.

It’s strange how imperfectly perfect moments can be once you accept that you have no amount of control anymore.

“Laugh it up all you want,” Brienne wants to say, but Jaime cuts her off by kissing her again before telling her, “I just find it convenient, because I seem to be stupidly in love with you, too.”

“I definitely agree to the stupidly part,” she snorts.

“C’mon, new game, new rules, and we have to get going before the pole decides to hide away again, after it finally seems to come around for good,” Jaime tells her.

“But I don’t even know the score for the last game!” Brienne argues. “I even had to leave the daily newspapers aside just to be sure that I don’t get the score.”

“Well, I, for a fact, know the score, so unless you want me to spoil it for you, you may want to leave the game for later,” he warns her.

“Is that a threat?” Brienne scoffs, though Jaime is pleased to see that she flashes a playful kind of smile at him that he didn’t know she had in him outside the gym, but now that he has her look at him in just that way in her apartment, slouched on the sofa underneath him, her hair a bit of a mess, her flat chest still heaving from their heated kisses, Jaime can’t even begin to say how much he wants that every day now.

He wants that to be his new normal more and more with every second passing.

“More of an _incentive_. I mean, as far as I read online, the Kingsguard scored…,” Jaime snickers, but Brienne cuts him off by placing her big palm over his mouth. “Don’t you dare!”

“It’s all up to you about how this game continues, Brienne,” Jaime says with a grin. “What’s it going to be?”

“A truce,” Brienne says after a moment of silence filled with nothing but the sensation of pressing against each other, nothing but the surety that between them, there is always a truce, that this is their kind of normal.

“Which would be what exactly?” Jaime asks with a smirk.

“We will watch the re-run of the game first thing after… _that_ ,” Brienne says, looking away for the last word, being the shy woman he knows her to be against the odds of her tall frame and otherwise great bravery.

However, that, to him, is just as normal as is all of this here, as is wanting that, wanting her, wanting all of her strength as well as her fragility because both these forces seem to arrive at a truce inside Brienne’s body right at that moment now, too, as she looks at him in this completely new yet perfectly familiar way.

“Oh, I can most certainly live with that kind of truce,” Jaime chuckles as he slowly stands up, Brienne following his movements. “It just depends on when I am done with you. Because now I have plans. A lot of them.”

“Do you?” Brienne chuckles with a flaming red blush on her cheeks as they start to walk towards the bedroom.

“I had enough time coming up with things while I tried to distract myself,” Jaime explains.

“Because that worked so greatly for you,” she snorts.

“Precisely. Because now that this is supposed to be our new normal, I no longer need any kind of distraction because I want to keep all of my attention and effort on nothing but this,” he chimes.

No, it’s supposed to be just them, only them, in their strange kind of normalcy stuck between watching football games, most curious situations, even more curious newspaper articles and recipes, abandoned ice packs, and their bodies acting out on what their minds were not ready to commit to.

And Jaime can’t even wait for the thrill of normalcy, for when all of this will be part of their daily routine instead of an outrageous situation brought about by an awkward bodily reaction, an awkward but honest craving taking charge.

He can’t wait for the new becoming the old.

For them to sink into ordinariness.

And if he were to make any headlines, Jaime wants to think it would be:

_The New Normal – Love Found in the Strangest Situation Bound to Stay Strong for a Long, Long Time_

The End


End file.
